


let go

by feralphoenix



Category: Yggdra Union
Genre: Blindfolds, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I want to know more about what the world looks like through your eyes. ...Okay, that's an awkward turn of phrase in this case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let go

**Author's Note:**

> _(falling in love is searching for missing pieces of ourselves_ – it’s all right ‘cause there’s beauty)

The breeze is a soft chill against Gulcasa’s skin, and he breathes in the wind and exhales slowly. The air has that scent of pine on the edge of burning that’s peculiar to late fall and early winter; it reminds him of bonfires and rituals and the dark peaceful nights he could always walk the streets without fear.

His breath and the soft rustle of his hair and his clothes in the wind are the only sounds. After spending the day like this, he’s learned to differentiate between them—his clothes make more noise, and the sound is heavier somehow. When the wind runs through his hair like a lover’s fingers, it makes a sound like silk shifting.

After the first hour or so, the fabric of the blindfold on his face stopped bothering him. It’s thick black linen, and the way it folds and rubs the skin just above his ears irritated the hell out of him for about twenty minutes, after which he got used to it and started concentrating more seriously on what he was doing.

It’s hard. It was hard. But he’s realized, he’s learned to take smaller steps and let his body stabilize, feel the ground beneath his feet a bit more to make sure that he won’t topple. _Holding your arms out in front of you is cheating,_ Nessiah told him at the beginning of the day, _and anyway that gets far too tiresome. Stretch out your other senses. Trust them a little more._

He ran into things a lot, assuming that he knew where exactly he was when really he didn’t. Even now, it’s hard to sense inanimate objects. Living creatures are a bit easier to deal with—he can hear them breathe, hear them move, feel their warmth.

He’s learned to concentrate—to picture things in his head. And he’s learned just how dependent he really is on his eyes.

Gulcasa’s heard stories of soldiers and those who fight bare-handed training with blindfolds on, and he wonders if they took time to learn to orient themselves blind first. He can imagine doing his scythe drills with this thing on after a few weeks of learning to get around without his sight, but only then. Perhaps that’s just because using a scythe is so dangerous and takes so much skill—and so much of his skill is probably reliant on flashes of silver and scarlet in his peripheral vision.

He trusts himself a little less when he can’t see. Perhaps he needs to try trusting himself a little more, now he’s learned not to be overconfident.

It’s been—enlightening… would probably be the word? Anyway, he feels like he’s learned a lot more since deciding to try this. It would have been harder to decide to do it if he really knew how difficult it would be in the beginning, but then he thinks he still would have done it.

He wanted—wants—to know. To have more of an understanding of what it’s like to live like this.

When he said so, Nessiah’s habitual smile had fallen away a bit, and his tactician had tilted his head and given him this long considering stare.

“I didn’t live blind for very long, really,” he said curiously, but Gulcasa had just insisted that he wanted to know.

“Then I’m not going to stop you. But there’s a difference—a great difference—in putting a blindfold on for a few hours and spending days and weeks without sight.”

He knows that, obviously.

The thing is that while he couldn’t have ever guessed what spending weeks or months or whatever it had been in the dark was like before, now he might be able to understand it at least a little. The self-doubt and the attention you have to pay to every detail you can sense as if your life depends on it (because it might, _you could never know)_ and the deep, deep quiet you need to survive.

He knows that if he were in the main part of the castle instead of up here, there would be no way in hell that he could manage. He needs the ability to differentiate, to analyze every sound if he doesn’t want to end up hopelessly confused.

…Maybe being up here in the quiet is cheating too, when you think about it that way.

But Gulcasa understands now—he _understands_ how overwhelmed he’d be—and maybe that’s just as important in its own way.

There’s still so much he doesn’t know (maybe is afraid to know) about what it’s like to be Nessiah; just the fact that Gulcasa is and has always been surrounded by people who’ve supported him means that maybe he can never know. But he still wants to try to understand. He still wants to try to learn to look at things from Nessiah’s perspective.

Soft sounds—something dragging momentarily, lightly on the stone floor—draw Gulcasa’s attention, and he places them as footsteps and realizes he’s got company. He listens hard, trying to place the gait, until he picks up the quiet but dull sound of metal and realizes.

“Nessiah.”

“You still have it on?” There’s warmth in Nessiah’s voice, and he sounds pleased. Gulcasa wonders what kind of smile he’s wearing. (Communication is harder. So much of it is nonverbal.)

“Of course I do. I said I would.”

“That’s very true.” And there’s that soft, almost-a-giggle laugh.

Nessiah doesn’t say anything more, but there are footsteps that grow louder along with that soft slide of metal on metal, and Gulcasa is just about able to hear the shift of Nessiah’s robes (a lot quieter than his own clothes, both from the distance and from how worn those robes really are) when a small left hand lifts his right one, softly weaving their fingers together. It’s a little startling—Nessiah’s hands actually feel _warm,_ so he’s probably been up here too long—but more than that, the definite connection with another living being is a relief. Blindness is isolation.

“Let’s go back. I’ll take you inside.” Nessiah’s words are still warm, and they have a rare kind of gentleness to them.

“Alright.”

And Nessiah leads him. Gulcasa’s own corrected, smaller steps are almost the same as Nessiah’s natural stride, and Nessiah shortens his own a bit to match him and makes things easier. (There’s a bit of this-way-and-that tug first, and Gulcasa can tell by the way things smooth out without his having to do anything.) They walk in silence except for a few murmured warnings out of Nessiah (“Step carefully, the flagstones are uneven.” “These are stairs. Take them slowly or you’ll fall.”), and although they pass pockets of noise, Nessiah keeps them walking for a long time.

At last, Nessiah’s feet come to a stop, and Gulcasa takes an extra step and a half before he realizes. He hears—that’s a door closing, isn’t it?

After a pause where he tries to reorient himself and discern his whereabouts on his own, Gulcasa just shakes his head. “Nessiah, where are we?”

“Your room. We’re alone.”

There’s a clatter (what’s Nessiah doing anyway?), and then another tug at his hand. Gulcasa can barely hear Nessiah’s footsteps anymore; he must have taken those sandals off. He follows along as he’s pulled—he doesn’t really know what’s going on, but this is _Nessiah_ and so he’d probably better be obedient. They stop again, and Gulcasa takes the opportunity to take his own shoes off (rather than trying to fumble with the laces of the low boots, he sets the toe of one at the heel of the other and pulls them off that way; his sisters would complain that he’s ruining them like that, but honestly it’s just easier this way) as there are vague wooden sliding sounds, probably the drawers being opened and closed.

Once the sounds have ended, Nessiah’s hands are suddenly at his waist, pushing him lightly. “Sit down—lie back.”

First he lets himself be pushed, but then he recognizes the feel of the mattress and sits down on his own, turning so that his back is against the pillows and headboard (it’s more like sitting in a very slanted chair or like slouching than actually lying down).

“Nessiah, what are you doing?” he asks, even though he has the feeling he already knows.

There’s no reply at first, but then there’s the lightest brush of fingertips at his cheek (and a heavier drag of chains on his chest), and Nessiah’s other hand turns Gulcasa’s over, the pads of his fingers exploring the contours of Gulcasa’s palm.

“Will you indulge me?” Nessiah asks softly, maybe a little shyly.

Gulcasa just smiles.

“Of course. Do whatever you like.”

There’s no shift in the mattress to say that Nessiah has gotten up onto it beside him—those hands just dance lightly down Gulcasa’s front, pulling his shirt up to expose his abs, then tracing them (and making him shiver just a bit) before delicately opening Gulcasa’s pants and then dragging them down on his hips.

Gulcasa lies still and lets Nessiah do it. It’s strange—he’s usually the one to undress them both—he’s usually the one with the majority of the control in any case. But then this, too, is part of being blind and being new to it: Helplessness, and trust, and relinquishing control to those people you trust.

There are more sounds of dull metal—and then the soft slide of fabric down Nessiah’s skin, a shift and collapse that sends anticipation through Gulcasa’s nerves like a chill over his skin. He can’t see it, but imagining Nessiah’s bare body starts to gather blood between his legs; he feels himself start to stiffen.

The edge of the mattress on his right side depresses—Gulcasa feels the shift in his back and along his side as the springs all across the mattress try to take the weight together—and then evens out a bit; there’s a brush of air along Gulcasa’s bare skin and vaguely, he can feel Nessiah’s warmth near him, hear Nessiah breathing.

He wants to reach up and run his hands over Nessiah’s body, trace that expanse of white skin, but he realizes that he can’t because he doesn’t know exactly where Nessiah _is._ He has to stay still. This time, there’s no way for him to _do;_ he just has to be done to.

It’s a little awkward because of that, as the soft sounds of Nessiah’s chains swaying as he moves reach Gulcasa’s ears and then those small soft hands are tracing patterns on his skin, playing fingertips and nails over his muscles without pressing down and giving him their bite. (Nessiah is above him, he judges, since there’s no cold shock of metal against his skin.)

Those hands run up, up, over his chest—slowly, softly, tenderly; this is the kind of touch that Nessiah likes. Gulcasa would prefer to be handled a little more roughly, but then this kind of care isn’t bad. It’s sweet and relaxing (or at least—relaxing when the side of Nessiah’s finger doesn’t brush the edge of his nipple, making his heart jolt and stutter and send him shuddering, shuddering) and almost reassuring.

(Is that what Nessiah’s intentions are, then—? Maybe. Gulcasa knows that now isn’t the time to ask; asking would break the moment, and Nessiah is likely enjoying this.)

Nessiah’s hands move lower. The tip of one finger runs in a line down the center of his body, dipping briefly and shallowly into his navel instead of just skimming over it; Nessiah trails his hand more slowly over and through his pubic hair, letting his fingers catch on the curls. He seems to like that—he does it every now and again—and it makes Gulcasa twitch more than shiver, a tight spasm through every muscle.

He can hear Nessiah’s breath coming soft and rapid as fingers wrap lightly around the base of him—blood pounds hard between his legs, and a soft impatient sound escapes him before he can try to hold it back. Nessiah’s hand glides up the length of him—grip tightening just a bit towards the head—and Gulcasa shivers fully this time, doesn’t try to keep himself still.

That hand lifts away briefly, and when it returns it’s wet with oil. Gulcasa breathes out tensely as Nessiah strokes him, coating his skin slickly, fingertips rubbing softly in time with the thrum of his pulse. He can feel himself shuddering slightly in anticipation, and can tell that his breathing is getting rough; he doesn’t hide either fact, and makes soft sounds of appreciation as Nessiah rolls the pad of one finger over the head of his arousal in circles.

A bit abruptly, Nessiah shifts that hand further down, and Gulcasa feels warm skin on either side of his hips—the insides of Nessiah’s thighs. Some of that warmth lifts away, and he hears a long sigh above him; the head of his cock presses against tight muscle.

“…nn.”

Gulcasa can feel the muscles in Nessiah’s legs tighten and brace and shudder as his lover lowers his hips—that pressure goes on for a moment before Nessiah’s body gives, and then he’s taking Gulcasa inside him.

“……ah.”

The rhythm of Nessiah’s breath sounds erratic, and Gulcasa swallows hard; Nessiah seems a lot tighter than usual, and it’s hard for him not to move even though the two of them always wait a few moments after penetration to give Nessiah a chance to cope.

He realizes rather suddenly what this is—with him like this, there’s no way for him to prepare Nessiah, and likely Nessiah would’ve found it too awkward to reach down and stretch _himself_. As if to prove that theory, Nessiah vocalizes his breathing with a pained, fevered sound caught somewhere between whimper and moan.

“Are you alright?”

There’s a shift of metal, and between uneven breaths, Nessiah says “yes” softly. There’s a long pause where neither of them move or speak (he can feel Nessiah breathing, not just hear it—it’s a shift in Nessiah’s body and a slight chill at his diaphragm).

“You sure?”

“Yes.” There’s a bit more strength in his voice now, and Gulcasa can feel him starting to relax.

Nessiah comes to rest sitting in his lap, and there’s a soft rush of air and those small hands are resting heavily on his shoulders. Slowly and carefully at first, Nessiah starts to move.

With their bodies layered—entwined—Gulcasa moves his hands along the mattress until his fingertips brush against the smooth contours of Nessiah’s folded legs. He lets his hands drift up and come to a rest at Nessiah’s waist as he shifts his body continually—feels Nessiah’s muscles bunch and strain minutely as he lifts his hips—lowers them—lifts them—lowers them.

“Ah—… hnn.”

Nessiah shivers, tightens; another twitch runs through Gulcasa’s body as he gasps at the sensation.

Being unable to see—his other senses _have_ sharpened. Including touch. Especially touch. Nessiah’s movements—his heat—his tightness, and the way he always gets tighter just in the moment his hips start to rise—has it ever actually felt this good? Gulcasa can’t remember.

“Ah—Gulcasa…”

Nessiah’s voice is strained—over the hitch of his own breath, Gulcasa can tell that much. This feels so good it almost hurts, and it frustrates him that he can’t reach to touch Nessiah, to give his lover even more pleasure.

“…Gulcasa…”

And with Nessiah calling his name as if in a delirium, it’s just too much for him to handle. Gulcasa tries as hard as he can to keep his hips still—not knowing the exact angle of Nessiah’s body means that if he thrusts too powerfully he might hurt his lover.

“Gulcasa—ah, I…” Nessiah’s voice cracks, leaving whatever he means to say as nothing more than a hoarse groan. Gulcasa grits his teeth and tries to bear it a little longer.

But there’s pressure—along his loins, in his belly, all down the length of him—he wants and _needs_ to come _now._

Nessiah’s breath and voice are fevered and his body is shaking, but with the blindfold in the way, Gulcasa can’t tell how much of that fever is pleasure and how much is pain. He can’t just look up and discern Nessiah’s expression, or see if his chest is flushed and his nipples are hard, or take a glance at whether there’s precome on the head of his erection. If that’s pleasure in Nessiah’s voice—just feeling Gulcasa come inside him might be enough to bring Nessiah to orgasm too, but if it isn’t, if he’s still getting used to the feel of their connected bodies, he’ll just be leaving his lover unsatisfied.

…And he really— _really—_ won’t be able to hold for much longer. It’s time to take a bit of a risk.

He moves his right hand—moves it from Nessiah’s hip up along his side, slowly, and then shifts it around, probably to just below Nessiah’s chest; he can feel Nessiah’s breath falter and hitch slightly under his palm. Gulcasa holds on to Nessiah’s hip with his left hand a bit tighter—he can’t say _slow down,_ if he lets his guard down for half a second he doesn’t know if he can hold—and moves his right down, slowly.

“Gulcasa—what are—ah…, nn—”

He can feel Nessiah trembling, tense beneath his hands, and has a few seconds to worry before his fingers brush against impossibly hot, hard flesh. With a little relief, he lets his hand curl around it.

“…ah…!”

The motion of Nessiah’s hips shudders and slows; Gulcasa can feel his own chest starting to heave as he starts stroking. Nessiah is very wet, so it shouldn’t take long—

“—ah… Gulcasa—”

Nessiah’s voice is indistinct, slightly slurred with pleasure. His hips start to move again, much harder and faster than before; Gulcasa can’t hold back the choked curse as the friction rips through him like fire—

And in the next moment, Nessiah cries out—his voice small and helpless—and his cock twitches a little in Gulcasa’s hand and he comes hard. The hot spatter stings a little as it hits his skin; Gulcasa’s breath shudders, but he’s got enough of his sanity left to keep stroking more softly, coaxing out everything Nessiah has and letting him ride out the pleasure. Nessiah’s hands squeeze his shoulders and he thrusts his hips a few more times, desperately—

And there’s no reason to hold back anymore, so Gulcasa shudders and exhales hard and _lets go._

It’s a blur of intense sensation—his body aches like it’s reprimanding him for holding back this long—hot sweet _relief_ shoots through his muscles, and he can already feel his breathing starting to even out. _Thank god._ Nessiah has stopped moving above him, and as the pleasure ebbs and evens out, he can feel Nessiah quivering as that small thin body comes to rest right on top of his.

Gulcasa slides his hand out from between their bodies, lets go of Nessiah’s hip, and puts both arms around his lover instead. Right now it’s almost better not being able to see. The relaxed feeling—Nessiah’s tremors—Nessiah’s heartbeat and ragged breath—he can feel and hear them all so much more clearly this way.

There’s another soft, dull metallic sound, and Gulcasa feels the press of Nessiah’s lips at his clavicle.

“Thank you,” he says, and then: “shall I take the blindfold off now?”

“…No. I’m fine like this, and I said it’d stay on all today.”

Silence, and then Nessiah is laughing.

“Well, you always have been a stubborn one.”


End file.
